Fictionland
by fennecfawkes
Summary: Multiple pairings. Hermione introduces Harry to the world of fan fiction. Awkwardness, self-discovery, and uncomfortably burgeoning sexuality ensue. Takes place in Harry's eighth year and rejects all preconceived pairings. I didn't make these guys up.
1. As It Is Written

Lately, it wasn't abnormal to see Hermione in the library, hunched over a computer. To those raised outside the Muggle world, it must have just looked like a bi-fold hunk of plastic with a television-style screen and a number of raised keys that could inexplicably access a wealth of information, without the aid of spells or anything remotely magical. But Harry knew what a laptop was. He'd seen them in Muggle coffee shops and on the Dursleys' kitchen table, where Dudley used his for what he called "flash games" and Uncle Vernon ... well, he didn't know what Uncle Vernon did, though he knew it wasn't to Aunt Petunia's liking.

What did confuse Harry was how protective Hermione was of her own laptop. She'd often close the windows of the computer as soon as someone looked over her shoulder or simply slam it shut, saying she "needed to go study." After it was pointed out that she was already somewhere meant for just that, she would mumble that she needed her schoolbooks first and scamper away.

Eventually, Harry and Ron's curiosity was simply too strong to let this go on. And so, Ron lured Hermione away from the computer with the promise of snogging in the stacks while Harry took it to a secluded corner of the library and opened it. On the screen was a simple white window with what looked like a story displayed across it. Harry was alarmed at what he read.

Later that day, Harry got an owl instructing him to go down to Professor Snape's office for a detention he didn't know he had. He grumbled to himself that no one had ever said anything about a detention and he hadn't done anything wrong. Still, at night, he went down to the dungeons and was surprised to find Snape in very little clothing with a bottle of mead.

"Hello, Mister Potter," Snape said seductively. A chill ran down Harry's spine. "Are you ready for your punishment?"

Harry suppressed the urge to vomit and slammed the laptop closed again. He stood to find Ron and Hermione, who were, of course, still kissing. They broke apart and looked at him, guilty but happy.

"Well, Hermione, I've just read what you've been reading for the past few weeks," Harry said coolly. "It's very interesting. And completely disgusting."

"Isn't it?" Hermione laughed. "One of the worst I've found."

"One of the worst what?" Ron asked.

"Read it," said Harry, dragging them back to the computer and opening it. Ron took the computer and scanned the words, soon laughing loudly enough that Madam Pince came over and shushed him.

"What _is _that?" Ron asked Hermione, several decibels lower than his laughter.

"It's called fan fiction," said Hermione. "And thousands of Muggles write it about us. They read the books, then they decide they want to change what's been written and create what they call pairings. As you can see, Harry, you're often paired with Professor Snape. Sometimes it's you and Draco, sometimes it's me and you." She blushed slightly and continued, "Ron gets paired with Draco, too."

A shadow of a smile flashed across Ron's face. "Really?" he asked. "I mean, ew! Disgusting!"

"It is," Harry agreed fervently, trying to ignore Ron's initial reaction. Harry knew that as he'd grown up in the wizarding world, a Muggle woman had discovered his story and documented it in what she called fictional books. The Muggle world went crazy for them, but anyone who believed the stories were real were dismissed as off their nut. It had never really bothered Harry, since no one important thought these personal details were factual. But this? This was ridiculous.

"How many people do this?" he asked.  
"Harry, I already told you," said Hermione, sounding exasperated. "Thousands all over the world. And some of it ... well, some of it is quite good. Obviously, the one I was just reading isn't, but take a look at some I've bookmarked."

And so, despite the Charms exam they had the next day, Harry, Hermione, and Ron whiled away their afternoon reading some of Hermione's favorite fan-written stories. Harry was mystified by the number of people he'd been paired with. Some were logical. Really, who wouldn't think of the possibility of him getting together with Luna? But others ... He shuddered every time he thought of that very first story, with Snape in the dungeons. His morbid curiosity had gotten the best of him and he'd finished the poorly written story. Harry was amazed at a number of things—his own sexual prowess, for one, and how well groomed Snape was. Most amazing, though, and most disconcerting, was how easily Harry could visualize this scenario, among others. And that didn't sit well with him at all.

Meanwhile, Ron seemed to find every part of these stories uproariously funny, even a concept Harry couldn't fathom called "twincest" between Fred and George. And Hermione seemed to gravitate toward the male pairings, which she referred to as "slash." When Harry asked why she liked them so much, she blushed and mumbled something before clicking to a "canon" story about Harry and Ginny. That meant the couple actually existed, and Harry found it to be a breath of fresh air.

After hours of this, the three of them finally got to work on studying for their upcoming test. But Harry, try as he might, couldn't scrub the images from his mind. Draco, Luna, Snape, even Sirius; everyone wanted Harry on an individual basis, and Harry wanted everyone back, however reluctantly. He couldn't help wondering what might occur if he actually found himself in any of the ridiculous scenarios these stories presented. He didn't really think he was attracted to any of these non-canon partners. But if Luna, as the story had described, caught him alone in the Room of Requirement wearing only a Ravenclaw tie, what would he do? And Draco—well, that one was so explicit that Harry blushed just thinking about what the fictionalized version of the slick-haired, grey-eyed Slytherin had done to fake Harry, or Fairy, as Ron had come to call the character. The feelings Harry was experiencing now were far from the norm, and he hoped fervently that a good night's sleep would erase the impact they'd had on his psyche.

But fervent hope can only go so far.

**A/N: You may be wondering how Hermione has internet access. Now that I think about it, I kind of am, too. Let's leave this one at "She's a powerful witch," OK?**


	2. Possibilities

It was early when Harry awoke the next morning, and he was surprised to see that Ron was already up and gone. Maybe he and Hermione had gone off somewhere? No, Ron wouldn't let even that interrupt his precious sleep. What _would _he let interrupt his precious sleep? Something secretive, maybe, something he didn't want Harry or Hermione to know... In truth, Harry wasn't curious enough to be distracted from the goal at hand: getting to breakfast before any of his friends.

Despite a fairly good night of sleep, the fan fiction was still on Harry's mind, and right now, there was no one he wanted to see or interact with for fear of behaving strangely. He needed to process this sometimes gruesome, occasionally arousing information and, in time, dismiss it. Harry was good at being alone. He felt he could handle this. But no one, it seemed, wanted to make it easy on him.

"Hello, Harry."

There were no Gryffindors in sight, which was lucky, but Harry hadn't counted on Luna coming over to his table as soon as he took his first bite.

"Oh, hi, Luna," he said, scrambling for his pre-planned excuse to get out of conversations. "I really can't talk right now. Charms exam." He gestured at his open textbook.

Luna nodded. "We have that class together, you know. I don't really need to study anymore, but I'll help you if you do."

Oh, dear. This was a classic fan fic scenario: potential pairing, together for an innocent activity like studying, pulled into something a lot less decent due to pure, animalistic passion. Harry gulped.

"Are you OK, Harry?" Luna sounded concerned and put a hand on Harry's arm. "You don't look well. You're pale and you're sweating."

And now she was trying to nurse him back to health!

"I gotta go." Harry found himself literally spitting out his food, tossing his textbook haphazardly into his bag, and sprinting down the corridor to what he hoped was an empty classroom. But Harry already suspected his hopes were, well, hopeless, and his suspicions were confirmed when Neville Longbottom seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

"Hello, Harry," said Neville with a grin. He looked a lot healthier and happier since the fall of Voldemort not too many months ago. In fact, Harry noticed, he was actually quite handsome now, having lost his baby fat and gained a bit of muscle through spending long hours in the greenhouse as Professor Sprout's apprentice. Harry shook off this particular observation and said, "Hi, Neville. What are you doing in here?"

"Oh, I was just studying for the exam. It's easier for me to do it here than in the common room. Too many distractions there." Neville winked. Harry couldn't tell if his stomach was churning or his skin was crawling. "What are you doing in here?"

"I was—I was looking for somewhere to be alone, actually. So I could study," Harry said lamely.

"Well, you could just study with me if you wanted," suggested Neville.

"No," Harry said quickly. Neville looked hurt, so Harry added hastily, "I work better on my own when it's something like this. But maybe we could study for the next Defence test sometime?"

"Oh, sure!" Neville's enthusiasm was a bit over the top. Mentally, Harry kicked himself for the offer.

"Well, I'll be going, then," said Harry, nearly lunging for the door. He sped down the corridor and straight into Hermione.

"Have you seen Ron?" she asked, skipping any pleasantries. Harry was relieved that Hermione was here to snap him into reality. Gone were the thoughts of Neville slipping out of his robes and Luna using her wand in extraordinary ways. Now, all he saw was frizzy hair and a furrowed brow.

"I haven't," he told her. "He was gone when I woke up, and it was early. Did you check the pitch?"

"Yes, and he's not there," said Hermione impatiently. "Nor is he in the great hall, the common room, or the library."

"Why would he be in the library?" Harry asked without thinking. As he knew she would, Hermione shot him a death glare, turned on her heel, and stormed away.

"What's she on about?"

Harry turned and saw that Dean and Seamus had joined him. "Oh, she can't find Ron."

"Oh, he's studying for the Charms exam with Malfoy," said Seamus. "Didn't he tell you?"

"No. He didn't tell me or Hermione. Wait. Is Malfoy even in Charms with us?"

The three of them looked at each other.

"No, we don't have Charms with the Slytherins," Dean said.

"Oh, God," said Harry, and he ran to the bathroom and threw up the three or so bites of breakfast he'd had. So, apparently, Ron had decided to throw himself into one of those ridiculous scenarios. And now, Harry had another horrible visual to scrub from his mind. And this, somehow, was worse than thinking about himself. This was Ron. And Malfoy. Ron and Malfoy. Together. Doing ... _things_. Harry tried to throw up again. It didn't work very well, and he just ended up making pathetic retching noises that were interrupted by an opening door and a few heavy footfalls.

"Harry? Are you alright?"

"George?"


	3. The Gay One

"What are you doing here?" asked Harry.

"Never mind that. Are you alright?" George sounded concerned. "Sounded like you were hacking up half a lung in here."

"Lovely image," Harry said weakly, standing up and going to wash his hands.

"You can sit back down, you know," said George. "There's a reason there's a bench." He gestured to the stone bench next to them.

"Oh. Right." Embarrassed (though he couldn't figure out why), Harry took a seat, and George plopped down next to him.

"So, what's eating you, Harry?" George asked cheerfully. "Or what did you eat? Or what did my brother do this time?"

"Yeah. That one. I don't know if I even want to tell you."

"Oh, come on, tell Uncle Georgie all about it."

"OK," said Harry warily. "First, you tell me why you're here."

"Mum wanted me to drop off some stuff to Ginny." George held up the rucksack that was hanging off his arm. "Would've done it herself, but she didn't want to embarrass her. So she sent me instead."

"It's October," said Harry. "Ginny's just now realizing she forgot some things?"

"Yeah, well, Ron's not the only Weasley who does stupid things." George looked at Harry in a way Harry couldn't quite define, nor was he sure he wanted to. "She let go of you, remember?"

"Yeah, but..." Not long after the fall, Ginny had broken up with Harry. This was around the same time Harry had begun to suspect that Ginny had only ever been interested in him because he was the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, all the rubbish her older brother had gotten over years before. "That never would've worked anyway," he said lamely.

"Whatever you say." George paused. "Anyway, what was that you were going to tell me about Ron?"

"Oh. Right. Well, have you ever heard of fan fiction?"

George grinned. "Yeah, Fred loved that stuff." His face fell slightly, but he regained his composure quickly and said, "It was nice that he had that quirk, y'know, sexually. I could make fun of him for reading smut about our friends, and he could make fun of me about being gay."

"You're gay?"

"You didn't know?" George laughed. "You didn't think it was weird, the way I skived off on the Yule Ball to go play Exploding Snap with Lee Jordan? Or those one-on-one Quidditch practice sessions with Oliver Wood? Not ringing any bells here?"

"Oh. Wow. I feel dumb."

"Don't," George said, patting him on the shoulder. "I'm pretty sure Ron still doesn't know. And speaking of..."

"Oh. Yes. Well, apparently, Ron liked some of the ideas he found in, um, I think it's called slash?"

"Male pairings? Yes," George said, smirking.

"And we couldn't find him this morning, and apparently he's 'studying' with Draco Malfoy."

"Oh, God."

"That's what I said. Then I threw up."

"So it's not something you ate, then."

"I hardly ate anything!" said Harry. "Honestly, I don't know how I was able to get anything to come up at all." Harry hesitated. "Actually, George, d'you think you could help me with something?"

"What is it?" George's expression softened. He was quite handsome, actually, Harry thought. He hadn't really noticed before. And his hair. It looked ... soft. Like it might need to be played with or something. "Harry?" Oh, shit.

"I was thinking, well, I can't stop thinking about the stories I've read, and it's really doing bad things to my concentration," Harry told George. "I can't focus on anything without thinking of McGonagall getting shagged by Madam Hooch or something."

George shuddered. "Thanks for that."

"Anytime."

"And yeah, I think we might have something in the stores for that. Think you could come to the shop later today? What's your schedule?"

"Charms in—" Harry looked at his watch. "20 minutes, and after that, I have the day off."

"Nice Monday," said George.

"It is."

"So, around noon, then? We could have a bite, maybe go around the shops a bit."

Harry got the feeling George could use some company, the way he still used "We" instead of "I" when he talked about the shop and just how earnest he was about spending some time together in the afternoon. So, naturally, Harry told him that yes, he'd love to come into town.

"Just take the One-Eyed Witch passageway—"

"I already know," Harry said with a grin. "Right into Zonko's, two shops down and one across, and if you're not on the sales floor, you'll be upstairs in your flat."

George grinned back. "Well, I should get this to Gin, then. You feeling better?"

"Loads," said Harry, and he meant it. As George waved goodbye and left the bathroom, Harry wondered why he felt so alright again, and when George's eyes had gotten as bright and as blue as they were. Didn't they used to be like any other eyes? Weren't they the kind of eyes you looked at when they were there but forgot once they were gone? Even hours later, after his Charms exam and on his way to the passageway, Harry asked himself, when was it that George Weasley had gotten so interesting?


	4. The Fix

It was difficult for Harry to squeeze himself into the One-Eyed Witch passageway. It seemed to have shrunk around him in the past two years or so. That, or Harry just hadn't realized that he was still growing, despite being 18 now. Nevertheless, he made his way through to Hogsmeade and idly waved to the vaguely familiar witches and wizards he passed on the street as he made his way to the shop.

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had made its way from Diagon Alley to here, mainly to be closer to most of the Weasley clan. Harry suspected it also had something to do with the feeling of comfort any given witch or wizard had upon walking into Hogsmeade, this wonderfully unspoiled village where they could behave as they liked without the worry of Muggles' prying eyes.

Harry grinned when he saw George on the sales floor, helping a customer, possibly a child's parent, with a heaping armful of Muggle magic tricks. Truly, George was in his element here, giving a potential patron some advice with a smile on his face. Harry really admired the way George made eye contact with whoever he met. Those people were lucky. You didn't see eyes like that every day.

Harry tried to shake off the confusing feeling in his stomach as he waited for George to sell the woman her selections. As soon as she was out the door with her purchases, he lazily flicked his wand, and the sign on the door flipped from Open to Closed.

"Lunch break," George explained. "How was the exam?"

"Fine. You know Flitwick goes easy on seventh years. Something about NEWTs and having done our time." Harry picked up a miniature telescope, keeping it far from his face—if he remembered correctly, those toys packed quite a punch.

"Food first?" George suggested.

"Sure." Harry found himself willing to go along with anything George suggested right now, telling himself it was just nice to see a different friendly face. A very handsome, can't-look-away kind of friendly face. Harry dismissed that particular train of thought as they headed to the Three Broomsticks.

After shoveling several forkfuls of steak and kidney pie into his mouth, Harry asked something he'd been wondering since that morning. "When'd you know? When you were gay, I mean."

George nibbled on a bite of fish. Harry deftly ignored the older boy's—man's?—mouth as he said, "Dunno when exactly. Probably when I was 11, actually. Fred would talk about pretty girls, and all I could think about was how nice Wood looked in his Quidditch uniform. Oh, and Cedric. Don't get me started on Diggory."

"Cedric was really handsome," Harry agreed, blushing immediately.

"I knew it!" George said triumphantly. "I knew you had some gay in you! Bet you didn't even enjoy snogging my sister."

"Well, do you want me to be honest?" asked Harry.

"Of course."

"We didn't actually snog all that much. And when we did, she seemed bored, and it just wasn't that great."

"So there's more than a little gay in you," George surmised.

"I don't know about that," said Harry, still blushing a bit.

"Hey, don't be embarrassed," George said, putting a hand over Harry's. Harry's fingers felt as though they'd caught fire, another feeling he unsuccessfully tried to reject. "Gay, straight, whatever, it's fine. You should never be ashamed of what you are."

"That was really cheesy, George."

"I know. But I meant it."

Harry smiled. Soon, they finished their meals and went back to the shop. The stairs hidden at the back led to a flat that Fred and George used to share. Now, it seemed a lot less cramped with a lone twin as its sole tenant. The room off the main landing was surprisingly clean, though George's bedroom was another story.

"Go ahead and sit down," George said when they entered the room. Harry looked around. The only place to sit was the bed. Harry, after a moment's hesitation, lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. George sat down next to him.

"So ... What do you have?" Harry asked.

George paused before saying, "In the interest of full disclosure, nothing. I can't think of any charm or potion or other magical means of clearing your head of all that rubbish. But I thought we could try something else." And before Harry knew what was happening, George was kissing him, and he was kissing this boy, this man, this old friend of his back.

Kissing George was different from kissing Ginny. George's mouth was a bit rougher, his face a bit stubbly. Mostly, though, there was a marked difference in style. Whereas Ginny's kisses were fleeting and oddly passionless, this was aggressive; Harry could nearly feel the emotion dripping from George's lips onto his. Harry parted his lips slightly and George continued changing techniques, from nibbling to licking to now, a full on snog.

Eventually, the kissing came to a close—too soon, Harry thought, feeling dizzy.

"Did that help?" George asked softly.

"Yeah, I think it did." Harry looked at George and brushed some of that shockingly bright red hair out of his face before saying, "Since when did you—"

"Always, Harry." George laughed, just as softly as he'd spoken. "Since you showed up at the platform in your first year."

"But I was scrawny, and clumsy, and I didn't know what to do with myself."

"Exactly. It was so cute." George smiled and slid his arms around Harry. "You're still cute, you know. But there is a difference here. Now, you're sexy, too."

Harry laughed, a bit embarrassed but grateful for the compliment. "I could say the same for you."

"Did you think so before just now, though?" George asked seriously.

Harry thought for a moment, then said, "I really don't know. I've always liked you a lot, maybe more than most other people, but I hadn't really noticed until today, you've got the nicest eyes."

George fluttered his eyelashes at Harry. "We're very glad you think so." They both laughed before he continued, "And it's OK, you know, if it's the first time you've really felt anything. Just so long as you really do."

Harry nodded. "One thing, though. I may want to back off a bit on too much snogging. It's just, I don't want us to get carried away. I feel like ... well, we already know each other, but I want to know more about you. Like, really know more about you before this turns into..." He trailed off.

"A relationship?" George suggested, sounding a bit hopeful.

"Yeah. That. I just think..." Harry kissed him on the forehead, and the cheek, and the nose, and the chin, then ever so lightly on the lips. "It can be more like that for a while. I think it would be smart, at least."

"Sure. Whatever makes you most comfortable."

"You do." Harry blushed after saying so, but it was true—he hadn't felt quite this good in, well, ever. In a rare move, George went slightly pink, then kissed Harry on the cheek.

"One more question," said Harry.

"Yeah?"

"Why now? Why not before, or later, or never?"

"Because, Boy Who Lived," George said, tucking some of Harry's hair behind his ears and kissing the side of his head, "maybe for once, you should let someone else save you."


	5. Aftermath

"George?"

Hermione sounded surprised when Harry told her about his afternoon. But really, it was only fair. After all, he'd been surprised to find her snogging Millicent Bulstrode in a darkened corner of the library when he'd gotten back from Hogsmeade. She was "just trying it out," she said, and "certainly wouldn't be doing it again."

It had been a pretty weird day in general. Harry and Hermione were in the common room, and all manner of debauchery was going on around them. Seamus and Dean had found some firewhiskey somewhere, and they were sharing it with Parvati and Lavender; every now and then, one member of the private party would kiss another, regardless of gender. Dennis Creevey and a third year girl appeared to be smoking something, though Harry couldn't identify what, and Neville was flat on his back with Luna on top of him, in the throes of a passionate make out session.

"Never mind me and George. What the hell is going on, Hermione?" Harry asked. "Did they _all _read the stuff?"

Hermione nodded, looking miserable. "I didn't want them to. But Dean borrowed my computer to check his e-mail, and he happened to see a story about Remus and Sirius—"

"_What_?"

"And then he started clicking around, and before I knew it, he and Parvati were going at it like Professor Snape and Lucius Malfoy."

"Snape and Malfoy's—"

"Then Parvati told Lavender, and Lavender told Seamus, and Seamus told Neville, and Neville told Luna, and now, there's all of this."

"And Millicent?"

"No, she just seemed to want to ... experiment," said Hermione, blushing. "So, when are you going to tell the other Weasleys?"

"Tell them what?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Tell them the nature of your relationship with their dearest older brother."

"Oh. Right. Dunno. Where are Ginny and Ron, anyway?"

"Ron didn't show up for any classes today, but he came here around lunch to get—something, I don't know, he said it was in his room, and I haven't seen him since," Hermione said, sounding huffy. "Ginny, I think she was going down to Hagrid's. Arnold's been sick, and she thought he might be able to help."

Seamus and company staggered by on their way to God knows where. "Thank you, Hermione," Seamus said in a strangled voice as they went. Hermione just pursed her lips and shook her head.

"I've got to stop this, Harry," she said, sounding strained.

"Why? I think it's actually pretty funny."

"Well, yes, it was all a laugh at the beginning, wasn't it? But now, there are foursomes and snogging and what very well might be crack cocaine."

"Maybe a bit of chaos is what we need around here," said Harry, trying to find a silver lining for Hermione.

"What the ruddy hell does that even mean?" she hissed.

"Right. Well, guess I'm not helping you much." He rose.

"Don't leave, Harry. Just be as normal as you can for me. Please?"

"Fine." Harry sat back down. "Just because you're so pathetic."

Ginny came up then, wearing something mostly sheer and significantly more made up than usual. "Ready for bed, Hermione?" she asked in a voice that Harry could only describe as seductive.

Hermione's face reddened as she said, "Yes. Bed. For sleeping. In our pajamas. Our long-sleeved, long-panted pajamas. With button closures."

"Are you finished?" Ginny sounded impatient.

"Yes. Well, goodnight, Harry." The girls went up to their room together, leaving Harry alone, with the exception of drugged up Dennis Creevey and friend and Neville and Luna, still at it on the carpet.

Really, if he thought about it, he and George being paired off was pretty normal, in comparison to some of these other situations. Neville and Luna, OK, maybe that made some sense. But Draco and Ron, hanging about in the Slytherin common room or some other unknown crevice of the castle? And Hermione and Ginny, doing something that Harry strongly suspected had nothing to do with sleeping? All Harry had done was kiss a boy of whom he'd always been quite fond. In comparison to smoking crack and lingerie, that was nothing.

Unable to think of anything better to do, Harry went to his own room. He was, of course, the only one there, as Seamus, Dean, and Neville were all otherwise occupied, and Ron's whereabouts remained a mystery. But he wasn't completely alone, he noticed. A coal black owl was standing on his bedpost, head slightly cocked, a letter in its beak.

"Oh. Hi," said Harry, going to Ron's trunk and taking out a bottle of Owl Treats. The anonymous bird graciously accepted the treats after dropping the letter into Harry's open hand. Harry opened the letter, not too surprised by the identity of the sender.

_Had a lovely time today. Miss you already, but not too much. Don't get an ego, git. Have things gotten any weirder around there? Want to have lunch again tomorrow? Play your cards right, I might even kiss your neck this time._

_-George_

Harry fell asleep with a grin on his face.

**A/N: If you missed any trace of humor in the previous, super goopy chapter, here's a bit for you. Even I chuckled a bit at "what very well might be crack cocaine."**


	6. Inevitability

Naturally, Harry accepted George's invitation. He had a morning class, an afternoon class, and an evening class, but that didn't seem to matter too much; he had a spare two hours for George, both of which he hoped they'd use.

But to do what? Have lunch, yes, maybe chat a while, but how much time could simply chastely kissing fill? It was on his way through the passageway that Harry made a decision: snogging wouldn't be too much too soon. He liked George, George liked him, and there was nothing wrong with a bit of kissing and then some.

George seemed to like this decision quite a bit. "I would've waited for you, you know," he said between furious kisses. "Wouldn't have wanted to, but here we are."

"I just—" Kiss, kiss, kiss. "Didn't see a reason—" More. "If we both care about this, what we're doing."

George pulled away. "Are we together, then?"

Harry shrugged and smiled. "Why not?"

George smiled back and kissed him again. "Why the change of heart?"

"I never said no to it," said Harry. "And it seems so much ... better than what's going on at Hogwarts. Hermione's been snogging Millicent Bulstrode and quite possibly your little sister, Ron hasn't tugged himself away from Malfoy in almost two days, and there was some kind of foursome going on last night. Plus, Neville and Luna are together—"

"Finally."

"And I think someone was smoking some kind of illegal substance."

George nodded. "This has all done quite the number on Hogwarts, hasn't it?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Harry..." George ran a hand over his face. Harry loved the feeling that evoked and wanted to kiss him again, but judging by the expression on George's face, now did not seem like the time. "You don't think this, us, is only happening because of what you've read, do you?"

Harry paused before saying, "No. I really don't. I think this would have happened eventually, fan fiction or not. That just kind of ... sped it along. Besides, I don't think anyone's ever paired us before."

"Not so obvious as we are in real life, eh?" George pushed some stray hairs out of Harry's face and kissed him on the forehead.

"Apparently not." They kissed again, and again, and again, until George said, "So, think Hermione's going to do anything to change ... everything?"

"Dunno. Depends on how much she's enjoying herself."

And later, Harry discovered that she was, in fact, not enjoying herself very much at all.

"The snogging's all fine and good, but I'm starting to miss the way we were before," she told Harry in the common room that night. "Especially with Ron. I really don't understand him."

Harry refrained from mentioning Millicent Bulstrode. "Think you can do anything to change it?"

"I have an idea," Hermione said, a bit of fire in her eyes. "It might be destructive, and it will certainly be difficult, but I think, if worse comes to worse, if I get desperate, I could do it."

"And what would it be?"

"I shouldn't tell you."

Harry sighed. "Hermione, I'm the only person you _can _tell."

"Oh, fine," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's simple, really. In fact, I can't believe I didn't think of it any sooner. With a bit of magic, and a bit of elbow grease, and maybe some books and cleverness thrown in, I'm pretty confident that I can do it."

"Well, what is it?" asked Harry impatiently.

"I'm going to dismantle the Internet."


	7. The Return of Ron

"She said that?"

"Yeah."

"All of it?"

"Yup."

"When?"

"Dunno." Harry sighed and leaned against George. It was the third day in a row they'd had lunch together, and this time, they'd opted to make something together in George's kitchen. It hadn't gone so well on George's end. Having been raised by Molly Weasley, he'd never cooked before moving out. Harry, however, had cooked for the Dursleys much of his young life, so he had no issue throwing something together with George's limited supplies. Now, they were curled up together on George's couch, watching fuzzy reruns of _EastEnders_.

"And where do you go to do something like that?" George asked.

"No idea. Her plan's a mystery. One I should probably solve."

George laughed. "You're done saving the world, remember?"

"Yeah, but ... Look, Muggles need the Internet," said Harry. "I don't know why. We do just fine without it, and it seems like it's ruined us now that we have had it. Well, not all of us." He smiled at George, who kissed him on the side of the head. "Anyway," Harry went on, "it's a crucial part of most Muggles' lives, I think. And it just doesn't seem fair for Hermione to ruin that for the whole world outside where we are, you know?"

"Oh, I agree," said George. "But how are you going to stop her?"

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud _pop_. Ron, looking a bit dazed, appeared in the middle of the room.

"Hermione said I'd find you both here," he said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "But why?"

"I'm gay, little brother," George said matter-of-factly. "And I'm dating your best friend."

"Oh. Right," said Ron. "Doesn't surprise me that you're gay. But you, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "These things happen. And what about you? Snogging Malfoy for the past two days?"

"I haven't snogged Malfoy!" Ron said, sounding surprised. "Who told you that?"

"Well, it seemed kind of obvious," said Harry. "You were gone all day from classes, and Seamus and Dean said you'd gone off with him, and I don't know, it seemed believable enough."

"I'll have you know I was warning people," Ron said huffily. "And I happened to warn Malfoy first. I was on my way to the Slytherin common room, and Dean and Seamus asked where I was going, and I made something up about studying with Malfoy for Charms." He looked sheepish. "Wasn't a very good lie, was it?"

"No," said Harry. "No, it really wasn't."

"Well, anyway, I warned Malfoy, and he did try to make a move on me. Apparently, he already knew. But remember that Bat Bogey Hex?"

"Brilliant," said George, grinning.

"And I told the rest of the Slytherins, because, whatever, no one should have to deal with that, even those gits. Then I went to Hufflepuff, where Ernie McMillan and Zacharias Smith both ... attacked me, I guess."

Harry tried not to laugh at Ron's many misfortunes at the hand of fan fiction. It was not an easy task.

"Then I was trying to figure out how they'd found the stuff," said Ron. "Turns out Hermione doesn't know computers as well as she thinks. She sent a link around, I think it's called a mass mailing or something like that, to everyone at Hogwarts with an e-mail address. They all got the message on Sunday. And unfortunately, most of the people who got it seem to be ... well, not pretty girls."

Now, Harry did laugh, as did George. Ron smiled grudgingly.

"Did get one good thing out of it, though," said Ron. "Romilda Vane snogged me in the Room of Requirement. I went there to hide from all the guys. She found me and, well, put me out of my misery, I guess." Ron put a hand to his mouth. "Oh, hell, what if Hermione finds out?"

"Hermione's done some snogging of her own," said Harry.

"Oh? Who with?" Ron's eyes narrowed.

"Oh, just Millicent Bulstrode," said George before Harry could say anything. "And it was a mistake. Right?"

"Right," Harry said. "She didn't enjoy it. So there's that."

"Oh. Fine. Well, anyway, did she tell you what she's planning on doing?"

Harry nodded. "The Internet. Killing it, or something."

"Right. Well, she left. And I came to find you as soon as I could."

"Why didn't you tell us when you came in?" George asked. "It seems kind of important that we follow her to ... well, where did she go?"

"She wouldn't tell me at first. So I kissed her a few times." Ron looked smug as he continued, "She's in Silicon Valley. It's in America."

"So we have no hope of Apparating there, then," said Harry, putting his head in his hands.

"No, I've been there," George said. "It's one of the places I went over the summer, after ... you know. Well, I didn't go to Silicon Valley, but I did go to California, and I can get us there, and we'll have a taxi do the rest. Or something. I hope."

"Brilliant," said Harry, giving George a kiss and indulging in several more before Ron cleared his throat loudly. "So we're Apparating, then?"

"No. We're Floo-ing." George rubbed his hands together. "Now, let's go see Oliver."


	8. A Series Of Tubes

"When did Oliver Wood move to America?" Harry asked George with perhaps too much interest.  
"Oh, don't tell me you noticed how cute Wood was, too," said George, mussing up Harry's hair.

"Blimey, Harry, you've been gay that long?" Ron was dumbfounded as he followed George into the fire. The three of them were going at once; Harry still didn't trust his pronunciation since the Knockturn Alley incident, and George just thought Ron wasn't bright enough.

"693 East Janns Road, Thousand Oaks, California, 91362," George practically shouted. As they materialized in a foreign fireplace, he said to Ron, "Don't be an idiot. I know it's hard for you. But 'gay' doesn't just happen overnight. It's ... well, you're kind of born that way. It's like being a wizard. Which I sometimes doubt you are."

"Harry, make him stop," said Ron pleadingly. "Kiss him. I don't care."

"If you insist," said Harry, and he took hold of George's face with both hands and kissed him, long and hard. George grinned at him as he broke it off and said to Ron, "You're still a git, you know."

"Stuff it," Ron said, glowering till Oliver Wood walked into the room.

"George! Ron! Harry!" Wood was practically glowing as he hugged each of them in turn, holding onto Harry the longest. "Hey, you're looking fit, Harry. How's it going? Congratulations. Never got to talk to you after the battle. Feeling good again, then?"

"Yeah, I am, thanks," said Harry, a bit put off by the attention. George gave Wood a pointed look and hooked his arm around Harry's waist possessively.

"Oh, you two are together, then?" Wood blinked twice before saying, "Brilliant! Harry, I didn't know, you're gay, too?"

"Are you?"

"Eh, I go back and forth on that," he said with a grin. "So, didn't know till a few minutes ago you were coming, so I wasn't able to straighten up much." He gestured at the room, which was perfectly tidy, but for a stack of magazines on the table. "So sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it," said George. "We appreciate your hospitality on such short notice."

"Anytime, Georgie." Wood's grin was a tad flirtatious for Harry's taste. He put his own arm around George and scratched the taller boy's back. George looked away from Wood down at Harry, who thought of winking, but smiled instead, and George pecked him on the lips before saying, "Where we really have to go is Silicon Valley. At least, that's where we think we have to go. I don't know. Where do they keep the Internet, anyway?"

"Oh, Silicon Valley? That's all bollocks." Wood waved his hand dismissively. "Sit down. I'll get us some drinks."

"Butterbeer?" Ron asked, awed.

"Yeah, get it shipped here once in a while. Reminds me of home." Wood grinned. Harry ignored the slight stirring in his trousers, which became more noticeable as George, picking up on Harry's discomfort, began running his hand up Harry's thigh. Harry was grateful their laps were hidden beneath a table.

"Where you really want to go," said Wood, "is Newbury Park. It's 10 minutes away by car. And we'll be taking a car," he went on as Ron opened his mouth to object, "because this is a Muggle heavy area. It's one of the reasons I moved here. Well, that and the athletics club down the road. Have you all heard of football? Or soccer?"

"Dean really liked that," said Ron.

"And I saw a lot of games on the telly. My uncle," Harry explained.

"Brilliant." Wood grinned again. George's hand crept dangerously close to Harry's crotch. Harry did what he could to ignore it—though it was getting harder, in more ways than one. "Anyway, the library in Newbury Park. That's where the Internet is."

Ron gaped at him. "The library ... has the Internet."

"Yeah, course it does," said Wood, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He took a sip of butterbeer before adding, "It's just a bunch of tubes."

"A bunch of tubes," Ron repeated.

"Yeah," said Wood. "And I suppose all you'd have to do to destroy it would be to cut them. Seems simple enough."

Harry and George looked at each other. "We should go," said Harry.

"Yeah, now. Or 5 minutes ago, preferably," George agreed.

"Alright. I'll give you a ride," said Wood, and off went the four boys, at least one of whom, from the look on Ron's face, was seriously reconsidering his sexual preferences.

Harry hadn't ridden in many cars over the course of his life, but he'd been in mild traffic enough to know that Oliver Wood was a horrifying driver. He couldn't even get a decent hand job in the back seat as Wood's rather stupid looking car (ironically called a "SmartCar") ricocheted around curves and blew through red lights and stop signs.

"You said you needed to get there fast, right?" said Wood cheerfully to a car full of pale-faced passengers. "Well, we're there." The car literally skidded to a halt, and Wood walked them in to the library.

"You're good at the Imperius Curse, right, Harry?" he asked.

"Er. Yeah, I'm OK," said Harry. "But why—"

"Well," said Wood, "no one's here but the librarian. And the librarian has the key to the basement. That's where they keep the tubes."

"The Internet, you mean?" Ron asked.

"Right. The Internet. Anyway," Wood thundered on, "we either go the Muggle route and distract her or hoodwink her, or we do it the easy way and, you know, magic it out of her."

"Hermione would kill us," said Ron.

"Hermione's probably already down there," Harry pointed out.

"Oh. True. Alohomora or some shit like that," said Ron.

"I say we have Harry do the curse, if he's up to it," George said. "And I bet you are, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I mean, it's for her own good, right?"

"Right. Well. Go on, then," said Wood, and Harry did. It had been a while since he'd performed a proper Imperius Curse, and he thought the Memory Charm on the way out of the place might be even harder. But if all went according to their haphazard plan, Hermione would be with them by then, and she seemed to find those amusingly entertaining rather than extraordinarily difficult.

Still, Harry was able to perform the curse without much struggle, and soon enough, they were headed downstairs to the door ambiguously labeled "OLD BOOKS." Curiously, the door stood open. Wood, who'd made it to the front of the pack, turned to the rest of the boys and shrugged. He pushed through and gasped.

"Hermione? ... _Malfoy?_"

Bushy brown and slick blonde was colliding as the two of them, enemies not so long ago, snogged as though their lives depended on it.


	9. Normalcy

"Hermione!" Ron shouted.

Hermione and Draco, noticing the crowd at the door for the first time, broke apart. Hermione, face flushed, turned to Ron.

"Ron, I—"

"What the bloody hell are you doing with this—_this_?" Ron demanded, pointing at Draco.

"Well, he was good enough for you, wasn't he?" Hermione snapped back.

"I never did anything with him!" said Ron indignantly. "He tried to pull something on me, but I didn't let him!"

"Hey, I'm right here," said Draco, waving.

Ron and Hermione continued arguing, voices raised.

"Ron, Hermione, shut up," Harry said. Looking surprised, both of them complied with Harry's request. "Hermione, we know what you're doing here. But why are _you _here, Draco?"

Draco raked a hand through his hair and shook his head. "Dunno, really. I just heard that Hermione was going to destroy the Internet, and I wanted to stop her, so I went and talked to Flitwick. He knows about this kind of thing."

"Not too surprising," said George.

"Anyway, he told me to come here, so I did. And Hermione was already here, and she had these—" Draco bent down and picked up a comically large pair of scissors. "And I asked her why she was doing this, and she said it had ruined the perfect balance of her perfect life, and she needed to end it all, but she didn't want to kill herself, so she'd settled on this instead."

"So you've gone mental?" Ron asked Hermione. Hermione made a huffy noise and said to Draco, "Go on."

"Well, I told her it didn't have to be that way, that I've always ... thought of her ... I don't know, just, there's more to it than me hating her." Draco looked at Hermione fondly. Harry felt his gag reflex acting up and squeezed George's hand as though it were a life raft. George looked at him and shrugged.

"And so," Draco continued, "Here we are. Got a bit distracted, I suppose."

"Oh. Well." Harry looked at Hermione and tried his hardest to keep his expression neutral, though the image of her kissing Draco was difficult to purge from his mind, and that ... well, he didn't feel so neutral about that. "Hermione, do you still want to go through with it?"

Hermione hesitated before saying, "I don't know. It doesn't seem like such a bad thing now, fan fiction, unlikely pairings, snogging..."

Ron's expression grew ever darker. George was clearly holding back laughter, and Wood was looking at Ron with concern and maybe something more.

"So don't do it," said Harry. "It's a trend, Hermione. A fad. It's going to fade. In fact, I bet it's already subsided."

"You think so? Really?" Hermione asked, sounding dubious.

"I think so. Unless there are couples who were, you know, meant to be." Harry tried not to look at George.

"Like who?" Draco asked, sounding hopeful.

"I don't know," said Harry. "We'll see. For now, why don't we get back to Hogwarts? And Hermione, leave your scissors here."

And so, after Hermione performed the necessary Memory Charm, they piled back into Wood's car, with Harry perched on George's lap and Hermione and Draco entwined as Ron glowered in the front seat and Wood tried desperately to make conversation. With Wood at the wheel, it was a short drive, and soon enough, the group was on its way back to Hogwarts. Right before they left, though, Wood took Ron's hand, put a slip of paper on it, and closed Ron's hand shut.

"Write me," he said simply before nudging Ron into the fireplace. Ron's face turned red and remained that way after they'd Flooed back to George's flat.

"You really think it will be normal again?" Hermione asked Harry after he'd said goodbye to George and he, Hermione, Draco, and Ron walked back to Hogwarts.

"I hope so," he said.

The first thing Harry saw upon entering was Neville and Luna. But they weren't making out or worse this time. Instead, they were holding hands, and after they'd said hello to the group, they returned to a conversation about Wrackspurts.

"Well, maybe it wasn't a completely bad thing," said Ron, remnants of blush still hanging on to his face. "I've wanted them together for a long time."

"That's sweet, Ron," Hermione said, smiling at him. Draco scowled and Ron just looked confused. He glanced at Harry, who shrugged and noticed as they ascended the stairs that Lavender and Parvati were talking as they normally would, no kisses exchanged. Dennis Creevey gave them a guilty look and a nod as Draco split away from the group without a backward glance, and when they stepped through the portrait hole after saying "Pulchritude," all was as it should be again.

There weren't many people in the common room, just Dean, Seamus, Ginny, and a few younger students whose names Harry couldn't remember. Dean and Seamus were playing Exploding Snap while Ginny sat nearby, a book open on the table in front of her.

"Hi," she said as they approached.

"Hi," they replied in unison.

"Where were you all?" asked Ginny.

"California," Harry said. "Had an errand to run."

"Oh. Right." Ginny closed the book. "Did you all want to play Exploding Snap? I think Dean and Seamus' game is almost done."

"I should read," said Hermione.

"I should write," Ron said, reddening again.

"I'll play," said Harry, smiling at Ginny.

"Brilliant," she said, giving him an uncharacteristically shy smile. "Now, what's this I hear about you and my brother?"


	10. A House Harry

Harry had his worries about the rapidity with which things had turned around. The whole thing had started in early May. Now, it was two weeks before exams, and it had taken only 14 days to erase most memories of that hormonally turbulent time. Neville and Luna were still holding hands, Hermione couldn't stop blushing whenever Malfoy insulted her in a tone that was a touch too sweet to be genuine, and Ron ... Well, when Ron's head wasn't bent over a piece of parchment, a quill in hand, he was pacing around the dorm room, waiting for Pig to come with dispatches from Thousand Oaks. Any disappointment over Hermione had subsided and been replaced with a fervent love for American soccer and what Ron called "eco-friendly living."

As for George, he and Harry were still together and, as far as Harry could tell, happily so. But he wasn't always so sure about his own level of commitment. George talked about the sorts of things you weren't supposed to talk for at least half a year—living together, where Harry would be working after he finished up at Hogwarts, whether or not Harry would come into even more of a fortune after selling Grimmauld Place, the whole bit. Harry was, of course, perfectly happy with George, and did like the idea of being with him in the long term. But there was so much more out there than cohabitation-related bliss. What about going out for a professional Quidditch team or becoming an Auror? How good of a boyfriend could he be if he was gone all the time, either catching the Snitch or the errant dark wizard?

He reasoned with himself that his Quidditch career had surely reached its peak and there clearly weren't enough dark wizards running around anymore to warrant a career as an Auror. Even so, he didn't want to be a house ... What? Boyfriend? Fiancé? Husband? He shuddered at that final thought one day as George was yammering on about some new infatuation potion he'd brewed.

"It was almost as powerful as fan fiction," George said with a grin. It faltered as he looked down at Harry next to him on the couch. They were in the apartment, whiling away a Saturday afternoon during which Harry should have been studying.

"What's wrong, Harry?" he asked. "You don't look so good."

"I was just thinking ... Well, the future."

George looked at him expectantly.

"I don't know about it. I don't know anything about it," said Harry, leaning his head against George's shoulder. "I've had all these different plans for so long, and now you're here, and what am I supposed to do? Drop everything and be with you instead of playing Quidditch or whatever the hell else I was planning on doing? Not that dropping everything to be with someone I—care about would be so bad," he rushed to say when he saw George's expression. "It'd be quite good, really. The best."

"Someone you care about, eh?" George laughed. "You realize, Harry, we haven't said we love each other yet?"

"I didn't realize we had to," said Harry, sheepish. "You already know that, right? That I love you?"

"I had an inkling."

"Well, I love you. There."

"And I love you. Which you already knew."

"Yup."

"Yup." George kissed him on the cheek. "So, now what?"

"I guess we think about what we're supposed to do next."

"I'm happy here." George kissed Harry again, this time on the side of the head. "With you." On the cheek again. "In the shop." This time on the lips. "And if you're happy, too, then this is what I want to do next. I want to close the shop for three hours every Saturday afternoon and spend time with my boyfriend, who's probably already thinking about what he'll be making me for dinner."

"I've been thinking of making pesto pizza. Have you ever had that? Probably not. Got a recipe from a magazine I nicked from Aunt Petunia."

"A boy after my own heart," George said fondly, running his hand up and down Harry's arm. "I have to open the shop again soon."

"I know."

"Which means you should probably study for a couple hours before I close it back up again."

"I know."

"What do you have yet to study?"

"Well, I never study for Defence—"

"Of course you don't."

"And Charms isn't going to be bad, but Transfiguration and Potions'll probably be hell."

"So, those two, then."

"Yeah, I don't bother with History of Magic anymore. And Astronomy, well, that's just stars, right?"

George snorted. "You're more like me than I realized."

"Really, if I'm not trying for a job, then I don't care too much about how well I do on my NEWTs. Why should I, if I'm just going to be your house elf?"

"But so much more than a house elf, really. A house Harry, if you will." George's face softened. "Harry, is it really OK with you, staying here with me instead of going off and getting a job or playing Quidditch?"

Harry didn't have to think before saying, "Of course it's OK with me. I have you. And I know for a fact you could use some help around the shop. You can't do this on your own, George. You need me."

"Almost as badly as you need me."

"Exactly. Can't live without you, really. Never did before. Oh, wait, I did. Defeated Voldemort and all that."

George laughed. "Thanks for acknowledging that happened. You never do, you know. And when people ask about it, you get all uncomfortable. You squirm. It's adorable, really."

"It just doesn't feel so important now."

"The rest of our world would disagree."

Harry shrugged. "There are more important things." He turned to kiss George, substantially harder than usual, and draped himself across the taller, lankier boy's lap. "Like quickies."

"Those are fairly important," George murmured, running his fingers through Harry's always messy hair and kissing him back, just as hard and just as urgently. "Bed?"

"Do you even have to ask?"


	11. Over And Done

"Well, that's over and done, then," Harry said cheerfully as he, Ron, and Hermione exited their final exam—Potions, as it happened. Former professor Horace Slughorn had proctored the exam and thus favored the trio to an almost embarrassing extent. Harry and Ron gloried in the advantage, while Hermione tried not to look pleased as Slughorn doled out his usual compliments on her Draught of Living Death.

"So it is," said Hermione with a hint of sadness in her voice. "Strange, isn't it? We'll never walk through here as students again."

"Strange and wonderful," Ron said. "I was just telling Oliver in my last letter—" He paused to blush and stammer before going on, "I feel like we've been here much longer than we have. Starting with trolls and chessboards, going on to Polyjuice Potion and basilisks, moving forward to sphinxes and Skrewts and eventually boundless Death Eaters in a legendary battle. We've come a long way, haven't we?"

"You've gotten almost suspiciously eloquent since you started corresponding with Oliver, Ron," Hermione observed.

Ron blushed ever deeper. "I could've always been this smart, you know," he muttered. "Maybe you were just too busy raising your hand in class to notice."

Hermione was about to protest when Draco swaggered forward and slid his hand into hers. "That's a fair point, I suppose," she said, turning to smile at Draco and brush a kiss across his cheek. Harry smiled, too, thinking of the former impossibility of this particular relationship. It had been only a week ago that Hermione was absolutely stuck on how to properly execute a charm and Draco was the only one who seemed to know what he was doing. Naturally attracted to oneupsmanship, Hermione nearly knocked him over with an enthusiastic kiss, and they'd been studying together ever since.

"Have you packed yet?" Hermione asked Draco then.

"Yeah. I just have to go back to my dorm and bring my stuff to Father's car."

"Have fun," offered Ron to Hermione and Draco, who were spending a month in the Isle of Wight, researching lethifolds in their natural habitat. It sounded horrifying to Harry, who'd never looked at his cloak in quite the same way after reading about the blanket-like terrors. But both Hermione and Draco seemed very excited about it, both the death blankets and the spending a month together, alone and abroad.

"We will." Hermione embraced Ron and Harry, and Draco lifted his hand in a wave as the two of them scampered down to the Slytherin dorms.

"It doesn't bother you, then?" Harry asked Ron.

"What?" Ron looked distracted as he hunted around the pockets of his robes, eventually finding a well-worn letter and opening it, smiling as he looked at its contents.

"Hermione and someone else."

"Oh. No. She seems happier now, doesn't she? Doesn't have to keep him in line like she did with me." Ron grinned crookedly. "Plus, I have someone else now. Did I tell you he bought me a plane ticket to California? A _plane_! How do they keep them up there without magic? How much eclectic energy do they need? How do the motors and windings and screws work?"

Harry laughed. "You sound like your dad, you know."

"I'm just excited. I leave today. And you're ... what? You're moving in with George, I know, but then what?"

"Honestly? I don't know. I think I'll just help out in the shop a while, see if he wants me there all the time. If not, I'll get a job at the ministry."

"Doing what?"

Harry shrugged and laughed again. "Dunno. It's nice to not have a destiny to play out anymore."

Ron nodded. "I bet. For me too, I guess. I know mine wasn't prophetic or whatever, but it seemed all laid out for me, Hermione and the ministry and having kids and never leaving. Instead, I'm going to America and living with a guy I really barely know." Ron paused and looked at Harry. "A bit weird we both turned out to be gay, isn't it?"

"That's how these stories work, Ron."

"Right." Ron clapped a hand on Harry's back and turned it into an awkward hug. "Good luck, mate. I'll see you for your birthday." With that, Ron rushed away toward Hogsmeade, where he was set to meet up with his father and get a lift to the airport.

Having left the bounds of the castle, Harry, feeling lazy, turned on his heel and apparated into George's bedroom, where all he could see of his boyfriend was a bright red head poking out from beneath a coverlet. Rather than waking him up gently, Harry bounded across the room and leapt onto the bed, kissing George till he woke up.

"Well, we're excited, aren't we?" George asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"By the feel of it, so are you," said Harry, wriggling his hips against George's.

"I just woke up. Of course I am." George winked. "Care to take advantage?"

"Well, Ron's going to California and Hermione's going to the Isle of Wight and I'm all done with my NEWTs. So I suppose it is a time for celebration, isn't it?" Harry pitched forward and lay down on top of George, kissing him deeply.

"I think so," said George, putting his arms around Harry. "And what means of celebration did you mean to go by?"

"These means. Or this mean. Or I don't know," said Harry, reaching down and making George gasp in the process.

"Those are good means to me," George said.

Several minutes later, the two of them lay next to each other, staring at the ceiling and occasionally each other with wide, goofy smiles and sickeningly moony eyes. "Being this happy is disgusting," said George, sounding content. "Think all the dead people are happy, too?"

"Strange question in the afterglow," Harry said. "But yeah. When I was surrounded by all the dead people I love the most before Voldemort killed me and I came back to life and killed him—"

"How'd that work again? I still don't quite get that chapter of your life."

"—None of them seemed to upset to be dead. My dad and Sirius looked downright cheerful. And my mum and Remus were just really serene, I guess."

"I bet Freddy is too."

"I bet."

"But seriously, how did—"

"Look, I don't know how all that shit worked," said Harry. "Can we just shag again? I'm bored of stories, talking about my friends and me and everything we did and how powerful we are. I'd rather write a story of my own. A story with you where we're just happy and together and don't have to fight back any more evil than belligerent customers and the occasional firewhiskey hangover."

"That's beautiful, Harry."

"Thanks."

"I'm writing all of this down."

"Oh, shut it, you git," said Harry before kissing him again, and again, and again.


	12. Sequel Alert!

I'm finally working on a sequel to this story. It's called "Facing Facts," and I'll be updating it as I write it, so you'll probably see a lot of it very quickly. Note: most of these couples aren't going to survive the move to part 2. I personally will be relieved, and I hope you are, too.

Happy reading!

-ff


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